


Skin On Skin

by Rabid1st



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Derek, Dominant Bottom, Dubcon Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Happy Ending, Hurt Derek, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Consensual Touching, Oral Sex, Rating: NC17, Rough Body Play, Safe Sane and Consensual, Smut, Stiles Takes Care Of Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:02:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabid1st/pseuds/Rabid1st
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blind!Derek fic. When Derek is sprayed by a wereskunk he is blinded, deafened and left without his sense of smell. He shifts and becomes unmanageable. Stiles is the only one that can help him. The sensory deprivation has some astounding effects on Derek as he gives in to exploring taste and texture. He wants Stiles. Stiles wants him. The non-con parts of this fic are based on Stiles trying not to surrender to their mutual desire. It is not good timing for Stiles and so he resists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not rough sex kink sort of fic--but the interaction is confusing for both men. Derek is a werewolf and injured and so he's not playing nice. Bottom!Derek is not a submissive Derek. Not that there is anything wrong with that. Alphas can be submissive. Bottoms can be dominant. I find labelling people offensive. Labels kind of suck and are counterproductive to good fiction. But some readers seem to want them. So, I've done my best.

SKIN ON SKIN  
by Rabid1st  
TeenWolf – Sterek  
Rating: Mature  
Beta Babes: MIA for this one. Sorry about typos.  
Spoilers: Set in theoretical S4, some implications through S3a  
Summary: When Derek is sprayed by a wereskunk only Stiles can help him. Established Stiles/Lydia relationship. Established Derek/Stiles friendship.  
Disclaimer: Teen Wolf and all of the characters belong to someone else, MTV or Jeff Davis or assorted parent companies. I write this for the amusement of myself and other fans of the show and expect no compensation beyond fandom feels. 

 

Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin when the steel door slammed behind him. One of the two buckets he toted splashed V-8 across his sneakers, soaking them through. Great. Just wonderful. He sat the buckets down and glanced around, but couldn't see much in the windowless gloom. As he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light, he tried to steady his heartbeat. His pulse felt erratic. A long low growl to his left put an end to his attempts to relax.

“I must be out of my damned mind,” Stiles said into his blue tooth ear piece. “Scott, you should have talked me out of this. Why didn't you talk me out of this?”

“Because you were right. You are the only one he trusts, besides me,” Scott said.

“And you can't get close to him right now, yeah, yeah, but, for the record, this is the worst Plan B we've ever had.”

“Just don't die, okay?”

“Sure, okay.”

“He's about a dozen yards to your left. Taser him if he charges.”

Taser him? Right. Except Stiles had left the cattle prod with Allison. Because there was no way he would have been coordinated enough to use it on Derek. And, also, there was a reason Derek trusted him, now. Trust had developed when they'd stop hurting one another. He could hear Allison breaking the news to Scott. Stiles muted the blue tooth, before Scott started yelling at him, and tried to take a deep breath. His lungs weren't working well. 

The room reeked of musk and urine, mold and rat droppings and something sharply acidic. Stiles wiped at his streaming eyes. The wereskunk spray did have some effect on humans. Though nothing like it had on other weres. He couldn't stop shaking. Something skittered in the dim recesses of the space. Rats abandoning ship, perhaps. A death squeal made Stiles bleat on his inhale, like a sheep, like a lamb staked out for slaughter. Panic closed his throat around a jagged ball of ice. He was going to die, at the hands of a friend, while wearing an old bathrobe over his clothes and standing in tomato-flavored shoes. He saw the beast approaching, belly low to the ground, and pawed frantically behind him for the door knob. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he panted. 

So many teeth. They were going to slice through him, rip out his throat and devour his liver. Worse, there was nothing he could say or do to stop it. Derek might know him when he tasted blood, but by then it would be far too late. Stiles shivered, focusing on those blue eyes glowing in the dark. They reflected the ambient light as Derek crept closer. But he couldn't see Stiles or hear him or smell him. He'd been robbed of his senses by a Zhigaagwa, a sort of wereskunk. The nasty beast had delivered a direct hit with its neurotoxic spray, coating Derek's skin and clothing. The only cure was time and a tomato juice bath. Stiles edged sideways, hoping to avoid the first blind rush. To his amazement, Derek turned his head slowly, following Stiles' easily. He couldn't see, but he could feel the vibrations, sense his prey. The realization gave Stiles a glimmer of an idea. He stomped his foot three times in quick succession.

Derek snarled and prepared to leap. Stiles stomped again, once, a petulant negative, like an angry toddler.

“No,” he said, loud enough to echo. Derek flinched as the sound bounced around the small space. His low growl seemed confused, tentative. “Too bad I don't know Morse code,” Stiles said, giving the floor three taps again. “This means good dog.”

Recalling a scene from Roger Rabbit, he tapped out a quick run of “Shave and a haircut, two bits.” Derek dropped to the floor and Stiles realized he was listening with his skin, like Helen Keller. Did his teeth look less pointed? Stiles bent his knees so he could reach down and knock out the riff with his knuckles. He played the tune one more time, stopping before the “two bits” part. Derek tilted his head and then smacked the floor twice. Stiles tapped back twice. Communication. Hallelujah. 

“Oh, you clever wolf, you,” Stiles crowed. He rose and shot forward a few steps. Derek yelped and scurried back, snapping at the air. Stiles stopped so suddenly he stood up on his toes. He gave the bad dog stomp. Derek roared at him. “Okay, still not getting the message across. You need to come closer. Closer.”

Stiles gave the floor two raps from his heel and then backed up a few steps. He stooped to give the shave and haircut knock again. Derek knocked twice, slinking forward. Slowly they edged toward the buckets. Soon they were only a foot away from one another, tapping the floor lightly with their hands. Their own private rhythm section. Stiles tried not to think about how close those teeth were to his throat and how little running room he had left. If Derek's mood changed again, he would be on top of Stiles in a single spring. 

But he seemed content now, waiting for further developments. Content, but hardly complacent. He refused to move close enough to grab. And grabbing, Stiles realized, would probably be deadly. The most dangerous part of this was coming up, Stiles still had to get Derek out of his clothes and bathed. He reached toward him, letting his hand hover over Derek's fingers, warming the air between them. They were both trembling. Every instinct screamed at Stiles to avoid touching. He knew Derek could be brutally fast. He might snap off the hand before Stiles could withdraw it. Stiles simply wasn't quick enough to avoid injury. They were at an impasse. 

“Okay, buddy, I know this might be a little weird for you,” Stiles said, talking it out even though Derek couldn't hear him. “But, Deaton said you could still taste things, like my blood. Only blood might make you frantic. Or hungry. So, I think...being open to new things...is our best chance for peaceful resolution. Or, you know, quick death. Please don't take this the wrong way.”

Heart pounding loud enough for werewolves outside to sense it, Stiles inched forward until he was breathing straight into Derek's face. Derek jerked as if he'd been slapped, but didn't bite or jump away. His tiny pupils tried to widen, focus. He had eyebrows again. And his teeth definitely looked less pointy now. Stiles silently counted to three, as he tipped his head, angling his mouth until he could slot it into Derek's for the perfect first kiss. Nobody, not even the grumpiest werewolf on earth, could mistake a chaste kiss for an attack. 

It worked. Like the frog prince kiss had worked. As soon as their lips met, Derek became fully human. He made a whimpering noise that shot through Stiles at his groin. Derek's hands rose with a flutter. They caught Stiles around the head, bracketing his face as Derek plunged into the kiss. They fell back against the door in a tangle of limbs. Stiles sat down hard and nearly swallowed his tongue and Derek's, because that wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting at all. Derek drained him like a man gulping ice water on a hot day. His hands were everywhere, clutching Stiles closer, tugging through his hair, stroking his face. He broke the kiss to rub their cheeks together and nuzzled his way to an ear. 

“Stiles?” he said, laughing as he snuggled closer. “Stiles.” A rush of words, probably more than he'd ever spoken at one time escaped him. “I knew it. I knew it was you. Shave and a haircut, who does that? You.”

Stiles petted him, shushed him. But Derek couldn't seem to stop talking. “It was a Zhigaagwa. I took a hit. Can't see. Can't hear. I can't smell you. I want to smell you. Know you. Your skin. Your mouth. So delicious. I can feel your heart pounding. I thought every one was gone and I was locked in here. God, I was fucking terrified. And I should stop touching you, right? Sorry. Sorry.”

Nodding his head, Stiles enjoyed the sensation of Derek's beard prickling his skin. The rough texture made him instantly hard. What the hell was going on? Stiles got another full body embrace and, God, an earlobe suckle for his trouble. So much for restraint. Derek had as much self-control as a puppy drunk on rum balls. He found one of Stiles' hands and drew it to his mouth. He nuzzled it. Then, licked the palm, before taking in two fingers, running his tongue between them. Stiles hissed. The muscles along his sides and back clenched, making him rock forward into Derek. The squirming registered for Derek and it wasn't like he couldn't read the body language. More than that he seemed to like it. His free hand, fingers splayed wide, skated up Stiles' torso. And now Stiles was getting so hard he couldn't breath and there was no way Derek would stop in the face of that. He cuddled between Stiles' spread legs, grabbing one knee and pulling it up along his hip. 

“Hokay,” Stiles said on a shaky breath, pushing at Derek's shoulder. “This isn't what we should be doing. You are not a well wolf and I'm here to give you a bath...only maybe not. Maybe naked Derek is...too much, because I'm with Lydia now and...oh, my God,” Stiles slammed his head into the door as Derek found a nipple and stroked it. “Do not do that again.” He delivered a sound smack to the side of Derek's head. “We are on fucking infrared right now.” That thought made him toggle on his blue tooth again, just in time to hear Scott panicking.

“Stiles? Stiles? He's right on top of you. Answer me.”

“No. Here. Good We're good. He's...he's subdued,” Stiles said. Derek was doing his level best to burrow through him. The robe confounded him. “Could you maybe turn off the monitors now?”

“Stiles! Thank god! What? Why?”

“Because...he needs a bath, Scott. Privacy? In fact, everyone can just go home. I'm sure we can manage.”

“You're underneath him,” Allison said.

“It's a surprisingly dominate position. Trust me.”

“We aren't leaving, until you are both safe.”

Stiles growled. “Great. I'll talk to you in a few minutes,” he said, muting again.

He used a fingertip to draw a large D on Derek's shoulder. “D?” Derek said. Stiles drew a “Y.”

“D.Y.? Do it yourself?”

Stiles laughed, jiggling both of them. He brought Derek's hand to his face and let him feel the head shake as he traced the letter N. 

“No,” Derek said, getting it. He trailed a fingertip down Stiles cheek, making a lazy S. “S is for Stiles. Y is for yes. N is for no. D is for...Derek?”

Stiles nodded and Derek gave him a quick peck on the lips. It morphed into sliding tongues and greedy fingers and Stiles understood that he was Derek's life line now. All he had was touch and taste. The isolation magnified his remaining senses, lending them profound impact. The touching, the kissing, the speaking connected him to something. Sign language had its limits. But Derek obviously wanted more of what he had to work with. So...why not give him what he craved? Stiles curled his fingers under the hem of Derek's shirt and started dragging it up his body. Talk about mixed signals. That had to send a few. Derek reared back, his stomach sensitive to an unfamiliar touch. Then, to Stiles amazement, he stood and began undressing, casting his noxious clothing into the center of the room. Finally. But Stiles knew they were not communicating. He was about to seriously disappoint his friend, but they couldn't carry through on what Derek was planning.

“I'm sorry about this, Derek,” Stiles said, shrugging out of the robe and hanging it on the door knob. “But you are not in your right mind.” 

As soon as Derek was naked, he put his hand out, questing, needing contact. And Stiles, feeling like a complete heel, dumped the full bucket of tomato juice over his head. Derek shrank into himself, snarling as he crouched. But Stiles simply avoided his claws as he moved in and started scrubbing. He didn't think about the body under his sponge, how strongly it reacted to light, uneven strokes. He focused only on cleaning every inch of skin. Derek yelped and shivered and swatted at him, but he didn't turn violent or shove away. Stiles could tell he understood the need for this, even if, to judge by his wriggling, it had the same effect as endless tickling on his psyche. Every few minutes, Derek wrenched back, panting. And Stiles gave him space. They danced around one another, Stiles' fingers sliding everywhere, losing purchase on wet skin. He stumbled when they bumped together, again, and dropped the sponge. Derek, sensing him vulnerable, pounced as he stooped to retrieve it. He wrestled Stiles back to the wall, tore away the collar of his shirt and licked the exposed skin. Once again, the taste of Stiles made him human and verbal.

“Stop teasing. Let me taste you. Let me suck you off. Come on. Payback, Stiles. You want it. I can tell.”

“Holy mother of god! Stop. Just Stop!” Stiles squeaked, even as his treacherous body demanded he give in to the whole idea of sucking. He could almost feel it, the wet heat engulfing him. Derek on his knees, hands and mouth craving more flavors, more silky textures. The image shocked Stiles like a cattle prod. It tightened every muscle, made him writhe. Jesus. Jesus. He could just stop fighting it and who would blame him? “No. This isn't about sex. No. No.” He pounded Derek's shoulder. After one more long, slow, intimately persuasive kiss failed to relax Stiles, Derek set him free. “Why didn't I know this about you?” Stiles said. “We could have...” He shook the notion out of his head. He couldn't afford to entertain the hope. “No, we really wouldn't have. This isn't you. It's like you're drunk. Or drugged. Lonely."

Empty, he thought. That was it. Desperately empty. Nothing coming in, everything spilling out. Stiles pressed his knuckles against his teeth as he dragged a hand over his mouth, wiping away the taste of something too sweet to contemplate. He thought he might cry, because this was so unfair to both of them. He never should have come into this room. Never should have opened the floodgates with that kiss. Now they both wanted more. He bit down hard on his lip to avoid blubbering. But his hands shook so much he could barely hold the sponge as he returned to his task. Derek responded to the change in his mood, sensing it somehow. He pressed both palms into the door, fingers sampling the rusty surface as he stood relatively still. Stiles gave him a comforting pat, thankful he'd settled. They continued the de-skunking. Once he was satisfied that the juice had permeated every nook and cranny, Stiles tugged Derek's arm until he responded. He led him to the water bucket and encouraged him to dip in his fingers. With a little guidance, Derek managed to put sponge and water to work cleaning away the sticky mess of juice and toxins on his skin. Stiles created a little breathing room between them. 

Derek tracked his movements, found him easily. Stiles saw him take a deep breath. He coughed, pawing at his nose. Stile started to relax. But his sense of relief was premature. Derek lunged sideways and seized him, dragging him close enough to sniff. “I can smell you,” he said, sounding delighted. “You and this stinking room. You smell great. Tomatoes and rosemary and ham and swiss cheese. Hawthorn and Cheer laundry detergent and deodorant and pretzels.” He paused to inhale deeply again, before adding, “And you're horny.”

Stiles drew an F and a U on Derek's bare arm. “Lucky guess,” he said.

“We could,” Derek said softly. “Why not?”

Stiles dropped his forehead into Derek's shoulder, fingers gripping him tight. That was such a loaded question. If all there was in the world was this room, each other, basic animal instinct he would happily succumb. Of course, he wanted to give in to his desires. But tomorrow or the next day, Derek would be back to his old self and then what? Stolen glances? Awkward silences? Would they be friends with benefits or something more intense? Derek's intensity almost overwhelmed him. Would that change?

“You want to because you can't see my face,” Stiles said. “Because you feel lost in there, alone in the dark. So you can't stop saying everything you think. But you are going to be okay. And then, we will see if you really want to, only we won't because I'm with Lydia, now.”

Derek pushed Stiles to arm's length. He lifted a hand and gently ran his fingers over Stiles' face, tracing the bow of his lips. “I can't hear you,” he said, enunciating for sarcastic effect, as if speaking over a failing phone connection. 

Stiles smacked him again. Then, he found his hand. Placing it palm down against his cheek, he shook his head firmly. Derek gave an equally emphatic nod. Speaking into his palm, Stiles said, “No!” and added a stomp. "Bad."

Derek sighed, withdrawing his hand. He looked crestfallen. Rejected. Stiles could see him shutting down, sliding deeper into himself, becoming a more familiar animal. Caged, Stiles realized and he couldn't duck a pang of sympathy. He patted Derek again, then stepped away, moving back to the door. Derek didn't panic this time. Didn't seem to track him. Because he was Derek Hale and he didn't freak or babble or kiss Stiles with complete abandon. Stiles took the robe off the door knob, and guided Derek arms into the sleeves. As Stiles belted it closed, Derek sniffed his new garment.

“It smells like your jeep. And Isaac. You keep a robe in your jeep?”

“4 U” Stiles wrote on his chest. 

“Like a gift?” Derek asked. “A dirty, Isaac wore it first, gift? You shouldn't have.”

“God,” Stiles laughed, writing a series of Ns across his back. “You are driving me crazy, with the talking. And I don't want you to stop. Ever. But try to avoid making out with me on the way home, okay? I don't want to explain this to anyone. Because...because I can't. This...its only for us.”

He wrote that on Derek, too. “4 D. S.”

“Derek and Stiles,” Derek said, nodding once. “Us. A stinky robe in a stinking room. Too much tongue. Our dirty little secrets?”

“F U,” Stiles wrote again.

Derek, looped an arm around his neck, and whispered, “You are only encouraging me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles takes a Blind!Derek home after they are pretty much outed to everyone. Established Stiles/Lydia relationship. Established Derek/Stiles friendship. Derek has his way with Stiles in the bathroom, but wants so much more. After a little werewolf persuasion, Stiles decides to give Derek what he's asking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pressing on with this fic, we find Stiles getting mixed messages from Derek and his own heart. I can see how the rough play might trigger someone who has experienced real non-con. This isn't true non-con. Or as violent as it might appear, given Derek can do a lot of damage if he applied himself. He's being as gentle as his wobbly fight or flight instincts allow him to be. He doesn't mean to be hurtful. At all. He's just not a good communicator. And he is a werewolf.

SKIN ON SKIN 2

by Rabid1st

TeenWolf – Sterek

Rating: Mature

Beta Babes: Elsecarlass & Birthsister

Spoilers: Set in theoretical S4, some implications through S3a

Summary: Stiles takes a Blind!Derek home after they are pretty much outed to everyone. Established Stiles/Lydia relationship. Established Derek/Stiles friendship.

Disclaimer: Teen Wolf and all of the characters belong to someone else, MTV or Jeff Davis or assorted parent companies. I write this for the amusement of myself and other fans of the show and expect no compensation beyond fandom feels.

 

Stiles opened his blue tooth connection to tell Scott they were coming out. Then, he steered Derek through the door and across the hanger-like space of the main warehouse. Full of questions, the others rushed at them when they appeared. Derek shrank away from the fresh air and a multitude of vibrations. Running feet coming at him made him crouch low. He called out to Stiles but his words morphed into an inhuman snarl. His fangs appeared and he tensed for a defensive spring. Stiles felt his heart stutter. He dropped into an instinctively protective posture. If Derek bolted he could be seriously injured, even killed, by traffic or a fall into the river. He could kill someone.

“Whoa! Whoa!” Stiles yelled, down on one knee to shelter Derek even as he threw a hand up, warding off the closing pack. “Stop! Everybody stop!”

The panic in his voice worked on his friends. Scott, Isaac and Allison halted in a loose semi-circle. But the scent of fear agitated Derek. From the corner of his eye, Stiles saw the pack exchanging worried glances.

“Stiles? Have you got him?” Allison asked.

“I don't know,” Stiles said, exasperated.

“We should take him to Deaton,” Scott said. “He's still out of control and pretty rank. I can smell him from here.”

“I'm taking him home,” Stiles said. “Somewhere familiar. Deaton can make a house call. Shit,” he said as he recalled Derek's keys were most likely back with his clothes. “Allison, could you go get his keys? They must be in his pants, still in that room.” He tried hauling Derek to his feet by an arm, but got nowhere. “Come on, buddy, up we go.”

Allison ran toward the warehouse, heedless of how her sharp movements registered on Derek. He shuddered against Stiles. Terrified again. Wolfed out and refusing to stand upright. An animal overwhelmed by stimuli. Stiles mentally assessed the scene, traffic on the road, breeze off the river, lapping waves and boats, people milling around. Derek, the poison still confounding his senses, would be bombarded by thousands of unfamiliar smells and meaningless vibrations. Alone in the dark, he had forgotten how to be human, but Stiles knew how to remind him. He put a hand on Derek's neck, pulling him closer. His fingers tangled in dark hair, petting, soothing, as he aligned Derek's ear above his own heart. Head bent, Stiles took deep measured breaths. Calm. Calm. He sent his exhalations across Derek's face, giving him something familiar to scent, hoping to make him feel contained and protected.

A self-satisfied humming noise left Scott’s throat and Isaac actually gasped. Stiles lifted his gaze to his best friend's face. One glance was enough to tell him he'd been outed. The pack knew werewolf intimacy when they saw it. Scott raised an eyebrow, and smirked, as if he'd suspected this all along. But at least he seemed unfazed by the knowledge. Good. Because, other than Lydia, Stiles really didn't give a fuck who knew he was practically cheating on her at this point.

He was pond scum. He would live with it. He’d just have to pray nobody told her before he could. And how much of a kick to the balls was his life? After a decade of stalking the girl of his dreams, he blows her off for a man who wouldn’t have touched him yesterday, and probably wouldn’t want to look at him tomorrow? This was how affairs ruined people. You just got swept up in the feelings.

He flagged a hand at Scott. “Let him get your scent,” he said. “Hold your nose or something.”

“It's not just my nose, Dude. It burns my eyes, too.”

“Oh, my God! Scott? He can't hear. He can't see.”

Stiles would have said more, but Scott was already moving. Placing his feet carefully, he shifted up wind and came closer. He drew Isaac with him. Both of them coughed and teared up as they neared. But Stiles felt Derek relaxing as the familiar scents found him. The Alpha. His Pack. Safety in numbers. One clawed hand wrapped around Stiles at the wrist. Derek was coming back to him. He understood what was happening, that Stiles had done this, made it easier. And they weren't even kissing. Stiles called that progress.

Allison appeared at the doorway. Realizing Derek could feel, but not hear, Scott shouted for her to walk back. When she was closer, Stiles asked her to drive them to Derek’s place.

“Why me?” she asked.

“Because they can't take the smell,” Stiles told her. “And I can't hold him and drive.” He tossed Scott his own keys. “Take the jeep. Bring Deaton.”

Allison brought her car as close as she dared and Stiles managed to persuade Derek to stand and be maneuvered into the back seat. His extra long canines seemed to be making Allison very nervous as she took the wheel. Stiles didn’t want to apply the only sure cure, until Allison was focused on the road. As soon as she stopped checking the mirror, he kissed Derek back to human form. And, okay, now he was outed to Allison, too, because Derek didn't return silently. God, he could talk dirty.

_That mouth. Finally, on his again. Thoughts of blood cleared away. Now he wanted sex. But, okay. God help him. Stiles was heavenly. Bet your blow jobs are great, baby. Wet and warm and sweet and silken soft. And Derek was going to make him his, because somehow he'd always wanted this and never known. He cupped his hands around Stile’s face and swept his tongue into that mouth, savoring the different textures as he found them. Blunt teeth. Plump lips. Slick tongue. The taste drew him out of his wolf-mind and plunged him into a lake of profound desire. He couldn’t stop confessing every sinful thought he had. Couldn't possibly get close enough to Stiles. Be human enough, gentle enough for him._

_Why hadn’t he known this yesterday? How had he missed all of this soul-stirring heat? There were feelings bundled up in his gut like cords of wood. Emotions he'd cut and stored for a long winter. That’s what this isolation reminded him of—winter. The chill. The emptiness. The despair. Every scent magnified against crisp air. A bone-deep cold. His need for warmth. God, Stiles. Heat me up._

_Christ. Get a grip. If only this had happened to them last year before Stiles had Lydia. Before Jennifer. He’d felt a shadow of this yearning with her. An urge to connect. But, Stiles lit him up inside. All he needed. Everything he needed. Just within reach. But he couldn’t just have him. Allison was too close. And it wouldn’t be civilized. Stiles didn’t want this. Not, like he did. Stiles was still in high school. Seventeen. Too young._

_Grappling with that truth, forced Derek to end the kiss. He pulled away. As soon as he did, he felt sick. Dizzy. Disoriented. He liked cars, most canines did. Driving fast with the rush of wind in his face always left him a little cocky. But without sight or sound, the stop and go motion made his head spin. He clung to Stiles, again, knowing he should sit up, be a man. Stiles caressing him, stroking through his hair and down his neck. That particular touch made his cock twitch. His throat and scruff were both sensitive areas. His mind conjured up images as clear as a vision. Stiles naked, gasping under him. Stiles coming into him, all over him. So sexy. Derek felt his breath catch. Allison would hear him. Discover their secret. In his current state of partial undress, surely anyone could see how much he enjoyed being petted. Yes. Stiles was adjusting the robe, covering him more completely. He’d get smacked in a moment._

Stiles burned with embarrassment. Surely, Derek could feel him blushing. Because, even if those sexy mutterings hadn't carried over the hum of the engine and the CD she was playing, Allison had to know by now that he and Derek were sharing something deeper than ordinary male bonding in the back seat. To her credit, Stiles only caught her glancing into the mirror once. And that was because Derek made a noise, like…like he wanted to rip Stiles apart and put him back together again. Stiles hastily rearranged the robe, covering up an erection so gorgeous he frankly wanted to stare at for an hour. He actually considered taking a picture for later study. Man parts were not beautiful, only this one kind of was. It was uncut. Raw power, sculpted by the supernatural, like the rest of Derek.

Noticing that, at least, wasn’t new for Stiles. He’d often fumed, in their combative past, over how perfectly formed Derek Hale was, how effortlessly stunning even when soaking wet or bloodied. He'd sort of hated it. But he’d never actually crossed the line into lust before tonight. Now, all he could think about was using that body. Tasting it. Touching it. Being inside it. Riding it. He seemed to be versatile in his longings. If he and Derek did start something, he was pretty sure they wouldn't put any limits on what they did together. No actual pain, of course. Though, judging by tonight, Stiles didn't mind it a little rough.

“You are not helping,” Derek said, making Stiles jump with his reasonable tone. “This car reeks of your fantasies.” Stiles drew an N on the back of his hand. “Yes it does,” Derek said, leaning very close to his ear. “Open a window or I’ll take care of you right here.”

_Had he just said that? What was wrong with his usually reliable filters? When had he even allowed such thoughts to linger in his mind? He was nothing if not compartmentalized. Though, he'd never been exactly shy when he wanted a girl, this urge to verbalize was new. Still Allison was with them, watching, listening. And everything he was talking about was illegal. Guilt compounded his sense of loss as Stiles moved away from him. Derek swallowed a whimper. He was officially pathetic. A whipped dog. He huddled into a ball, resting his cheek against the door to better absorb the vibrations. Stiles reached past him. Derek resisted grabbing him. The window hummed down. A gusty breeze scented with traffic smells slapped at his face. Bracing. Like a cold shower. Good. He needed that._

_He wasn’t going to pounce on Stiles and fuck his brains out. That would be barbaric. And also…what?Wrong. And…illegal. And okay, he really shouldn’t have thought about doing it, because now he wanted to do it even more. His Karma, the bitch. This was so like her. Just when he was getting his life together... This happens? Fuck his miserable fucking luck. Would the pack still respect him in the morning? Probably not. Did he care? Not if he could have Stiles all the time. In all the ways he could imagine. They could runaway together. Live in the woods. No law. No scorn. The world could go to Hell._

_Before the car stopped, he scented familiar surroundings. His place. They’d taken him home. Oh, he loved them for that. He’d imagined they were going to Deaton’s office or a hospital. The poking and prodding, and endless questions would exhaust him. He just wanted to crawl into a hole and recover._

“Home? Was this you?” he asked Stiles and grinned when the Y confirmed it.

_I love you. He almost didn’t catch the words before they spilled out of his mouth. Don’t say that. Don’t even think it. This isn’t love. He didn’t love a seventeen year old straight boy who bounced around him like a toddler on a sugar high. That was ridiculous. This was…lust, hunger, need, emptiness? Something else. Anything. Think Derek. Something achingly sweet and soul-deep and…damn, damn, damn. Karma. Shit. An affair. This was an affair. He was having an emotional affair with Stiles. That's why it felt so good. Because it was so obviously wrong. A torrid desire brought on by circumstances beyond their control. Wicked. Dangerous. He should tell Stiles to go. He could manage from here on his own. Find his way to the door and around his apartment. Alone. Alone. In the dark. In the silence._

_But Stiles was all over him. That scent. Those capable hands. Tugging on Derek, coaxing him out of the car, wrapping an arm around his waist. Stiles breathing hard. So close. Exhaling into Derek's skin. A tingling sensation lifted the short hairs along Derek’s arms and all over his torso. Tingling everywhere. Great. Screw you, Stiles. Fast and dirty. From behind. Derek had another flash of the two of them, sneaking around. He could get off so easily on that. Pulling Stiles into closed spaces and pushing him up against walls. Allison should go. Stiles should get closer. Stiles should get naked and closer. And be loved like nobody ever had been loved. Because…he could do that. He could love Stiles. Shit. No. He was thinking it again. Stop. Stop it. Damn it, Derek. No sneaking around. No kissing. No touching. And definitely, absolutely, no making love to Stiles. Twitchy. Annoyingly verbal. Already taken. Underage. Stiles._

Allison came in with them. Of course, she wanted to wait for Scott and Isaac. Stiles wanted her gone. Not because he needed to be alone with Derek, although, okay, he needed to be alone with Derek. But, also, Allison was Lydia’s best friend. And everything he was doing felt so much worse when he was one degree of Kevin Bacon away from discovery. If only he could leave, talk to Lydia, tell her. Yeah, tell her what? Mostly that he couldn't leave, not even for her sake, because Derek needed him. And Derek was all that mattered.

Yes, I'm sorry, Lydia. Derek kissed me, a lot, many, many times. And I got off on it. Wanted more. We made out in the back of Allison’s car. Because we couldn't help it. Because we couldn't stop, even though our brains were yelling at us to stop. This isn't about you. Really. You are great. I loved you, from afar, like forever. Stalked you, convinced you to date me and now when I finally have you...this happens. This happens, because...I can't help myself. Because...I love Derek Hale? Fuck! No. He didn’t love Derek. They were friends. Good friends. Friends who might want to have sex about a hundred times. Friends who might cling to each other in a crisis and kiss and sneak around to meet secretly. Oh, he wanted to screw Derek in seedy motel rooms and broom closets and the back seat of that SUV of his. Strictly on the down low. Only not so much, because everyone would know. Everyone did know. Sorry about that Lydia. I'm so sorry everyone knows. But…okay…he was going to have to tell Allison something.

They had taken seats in the living room. Derek and Stiles were on the sofa, too close to each other, fingers entwined. Allison perched on the arm of a chair.

As Stiles opened his mouth, to explain or excuse himself, his phone rang. He disentangled a hand from Derek’s clasp and took the call. “Scott! Yeah. Okay. No, I can do that. How long? Right. Right. Can you pick up some clothes from my house, too? I’ll call my dad, tell him where I am.”

He killed the connection and smiled at Allison. “That was Scott. Deaton said no house calls. This clears up on its own in a few days. Scott's bringing some eye wash and pills. Derek needs to take a real shower. Do you want to help with that?”

“Uh. No.” Allison said. She stood with undo haste and Stiles pressed his lips together to avoid smirking. “I can just go home, if you don’t need me to stay.”

“We’ll be fine,” Stiles assured her. “If you talk to Lydia, tell her I’m tied up here, but I’ll see her soon.”

“You’ll probably call her later,” Allison said, making it sound like a forlorn hope.

“Right. I will. Absolutely.”

_Stiles patted him three times, before leaving him alone. Just what he wanted. Me time. He counted seconds off in his head to hold down the panic. The floorboards told him Allison was walking to the door with Stiles at her heels. The door opened and she left. Good. No witnesses. Stop it. Stiles turned the dead bolt. The loud clunk echoed. Tiny vibrations bounced off Derek’s skin. Alone at last. No interruptions. Stiles didn't come back. Derek pulled his feet up, curled into a ball. Stiles? Stiles! Where are you? Lots of scent but no vibrations. Derek tensed, his muscles started shaking. Two taps._

I am here.

_There, by the door, standing still. Derek took a firm grip on his desire to bolt toward him. Sit. Stay. Good dog. Maybe Stiles was calling someone. His dad? Lydia? Not a problem. This was Derek's home. His sofa. He was safe and... he could hold out alone for...a few minutes. Stiles! Thank God. He grabbed him, pulled him close again. No kissing this time. Just a hug. Breathing in the scent. He stopped trembling. Gave Stiles a little pat and released him._

_The worst of his isolation was over, he hoped. There could be no more excuses for bad behaviour. Stiles was his friend. Nothing more. His mostly straight, underage, male friend, the one with the storybook romance. Crap. Why did he have to think about the girlfriend? How was he going to look Lydia in the eye the next time they met? I tried to bang your boyfriend. And we kissed. Nonstop. Nonstop kissing. Sorry, about that. He's a good kisser, though._

_Three pats from Stiles. Like he was a frigging poodle or something. And he didn’t hate it, not even a little bit. He wanted patting, petting, those caressing fingers. In his hair. On his skin. On his cock. Tickling. Teasing. Who the hell was he trying to kid? He didn't want to be left alone. He wasn't all better. He was blind and deaf and needy as a newborn pup. I banged your boyfriend and now he’s mine. Mine. Not yours. Screw you, Lydia. Yeah. That sounded better._

_Stiles dragging on his arm. Manhandling him to his feet. Trying to steer him without too much success. Derek played for more contact. He focused on orienting himself to the furniture. Echo locating like a bat. He knew when they were pointed toward the bathroom. The scents of mildew and soap and water dominated. Well, he could use a bathroom break. And maybe a shower, too. Was that the idea? Showering together? Please let that be the plan. Son of a bitch! He was losing his mind._

_Tile under his feet. Warm hands on his chest. Stiles hands. Long tapered fingers, stripping off his dirty robe, exposing him to chilled air and lingering glances. He could feel Stiles staring. Coveting him with a heated gaze. It made his skin twitch. His wolf senses registered a hunter in the room. Stiles stalking him. Hungry. He was always putting things in his mouth. Chewing on his nails, his hoodie laces, pencils. Maybe he needed something to suck. Derek found and clasped a slender wrist, holding on too long. It got weird. Okay, it was already weird. It got scary, waking up his beast. And he let go. The ambient scent of desire compounded in an instant, telling him he wasn't imagining things. You want a taste of me. I'm easy, Stiles. Take me down._

_Don’t just look. Touch. Put your hands on me. Pet. Rub. Tug. Screw fidelity. Screw statutory consent. Screw me. Sweet mother of everything Holy. Come on. Imply permission. Make your move. Derek ached with the need to pounce first. But he didn’t dare. There were too many hazards in the room. Too many ways to injure Stiles, emotionally, physically. Break his bones. Bruise his ego. A slip. A fall. A blow to the head. Derek shuddered. So cold from the waiting, the wanting._

_Why was he waiting? This was his home. He didn’t have to wait for Stiles to okay his actions. He could jerk off if he wanted. Touch himself, by way of example. He’d have to touch himself, in fact, if he intended to use the toilet. Feeling almost virtuous, he located the edge of the sink, sliding his hand along it. He jumped when the shower thundered to life. The sound of falling water vibrated through the floor and air. The ionic smells teased his nose. Now, he really had to pee._

_Urinating was tricky, even in light of his full bladder. He was partially hard and unable to relax completely. Also, aiming without sight or hearing proved difficult. He hoped he was on target. Pissing on the floor was just pathetic. Finished, he flushed and fumbled for the shower doors. He paused to visualize the room. He edged sideways and bumped his toe. Bathtub. He took an exaggerated step over the lip of the tub, placing his feet carefully to avoid slipping. He found the body wash by scent. Searched for his shower puff. Stiles seemed to have vanished into the smell of rushing water. Derek took a deep breath. Nothing. Had he gone or was he just staying well out of range? Derek tried to be okay alone. It felt good to be wet, clean. The hot water embraced him. It took the edge off his desperation, even as it stimulated him to a full erection._

“Still with me?” Derek asked, as the shower stream engulfed him.

Stiles slapped the shower door twice. He wasn't going anywhere. Couldn't look away. His mouth had gone bone dry. He’d seen a man urinate before, of course. Did it himself a few times a day. It had never made him horny. But he’d become a voyeur all of a sudden and every single thing about Derek’s blissful lack of modestly was turning him on. He toed off his sticky shoes and socks, thinking he might wash his feet. But watching Derek shower stole his attention. He should have this on video. He'd never need porn again. Stiles let his fingers drift toward the pocket where he kept his phone and somehow they ended up at his fly. He was rock hard under it. His dick throbbed. Before he could consciously acknowledge he was undressing, he'd yanked the zipper down and pushed his jeans to his ankles. He had to be in there. Derek needed him close, skin on skin. He needed it, too.

Scott was on his way over. Stiles didn’t care. Lydia was still his girlfriend. Stiles didn't care. Part of his mind recalled wanting to take this slow, but his reason had abdicated, leaving impulse in charge. He was going to fuck Derek Hale. Now. Not later. Not tomorrow or next week. Derek wanted it. He wanted it. And maybe it was wrong. And maybe he had no idea how to do it. But the dam had broken and they couldn’t just pretend it was still there. Sink or swim, they were going to get wet. He thumped the tub twice to alert Derek to his proximity and stepped down hard as he entered the shower. Derek, slick with suds, found him in a heartbeat, occupied his personal space, filled his hands, filled his mouth.

“Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes,” Derek chanted, breaking away from the first cascade of kissing. A torrent of filthy suggestions followed that affirmation.

Derek should talk all the time, Stiles thought. Why didn’t he talk all the time? Maybe because this was what he had to say? And he’d had nobody to say it to for most of his life. The idea of him saying any of these things to Miss Blake or Kate Argent made Stiles grimace. He tried to shove those thoughts away. The last thing he wanted to imagine was Derek with one of his psycho girlfriends. And surely he had never told Miss Blake he wanted her on her knees. That he could make her scream and beg and cry and would. That he would never, ever stop wanting her splayed naked under him. No, he’d been quiet in bed like he was in life, Stiles was sure of it. Silent and sweet, controlled in his every touch. But not any more. Dam broken.

_Skin on skin with Stiles. Against his mouth. Under his hands. Between his fingers. On his tongue. Stiles everywhere, sliding his palms up Derek’s belly, over his chest, around to his back. Hot water pummelling them both. Derek wanted more than touching, he wanted them inside one another. He’d never had such intense feelings for anyone, certainly not another man. It had to be the sensory deprivation. He wanted sex like he was sixteen again. Words bubbled up from some artisan well of suppressed need. He always talked dirty in bed. He just usually kept it to himself. Bit down hard on his tongue, like he did on every impulse. The things he was saying now would have made him cringe, but he couldn’t hear himself. So, he didn't care. Until his hearing returned._

_The first thing he heard clearly was a guttural cry when he fisted his fingers around Stiles’ soap-slicked cock. As he relished the feel of uncut foreskin, so familiar to his hand, he realized he’d been hearing the water and their breathing for some time. The internal vibrations hadn’t registered as sound. He focused his attention and heard Stiles panting by his ear. He could feel and hear their racing heartbeats, synced to one another. And the helpless noises Stiles made, the little mews of pleasure. So erotic. So fucking turned on. Derek wanted to make him scream._

_But most of all he wanted to hear his name. Say it. Say my name. Moan it, while I'm driving you out of your mind. While I'm jacking you off. Absolve me of my sins. Tell me this is what you really want._

_He didn’t know if he asked out loud. But there it was. His name, in the mouth, on the lips. Yes. Fuck. So good. Arousing. He didn't know he could get harder, but that did it for him. Just what he wanted. Derek avoided kissing, swallowed his own words. Nearly gagged on them. He wanted to talk. But he needed to hear Stiles babbling away. The things he was saying boggled Derek's mind. Amazing, perfect things._

“Derek, don't stop. Like that. Just like that. God. You...Uh…” Stiles sucked in air. His head slammed forward. And he resorted to nonverbal sounds, whining for a few beats, his breath feathering along Derek's skin. Then, he drew in a deeper gasp. “Oh...shit. Talk to me.”

_Take me to bed. Fuck me. And I'll talk. You want this. I want you. Fuck me and I'll say anything, everything I'm thinking right now. You. Fucking beautiful thing. Stiles. You can be mine. My sweet, hot, filthy...fallen angel. Every night. I need you. Under me. On top of me. I want to come inside you. In your mouth. Feel you in me. Deep inside. Your cock deep inside._

“I want to fuck you so bad, Derek. Fuck you 'til you break. So hard.”

“Show me. Fuck my hand, hard as you want.”

“Derek? Please, no more. Let me come.”

Derek pumped slow, and then fast, in an uneven rhythm that kept Stiles begging. Pushed him close to the precipice, hovering right at the edge of climax. The longer Stiles lasted the better it would be when he finally came. But he was young and eager. Not used to waiting. He writhed and clawed and pleaded until Derek had to relent. He brought their bodies together, fisting around both dicks as best he could. Stiles slipped a hand into the sliver of space between them to help with friction. Those deft Stiles fingers, slender as a woman's. Capable and strong like a man. They worked their magic. Stiles covered his mouth with a surprisingly languid kiss. Derek groaned. Ready to go.

_So much for holding off, delaying gratification. Derek twitched as goosebumps raced up his arms. A spurt of cum caressed him, coating his knuckles. Graceful fingers drew the viscous mess along his entire length. Stiles. Coming. Now. A sticky-slick rope of fluid snaked across Derek's skin. It pulsed in time with a series of contractions from Stiles. They bucked together. With the hand at the back of Derek’s neck, Stiles held on as he greedily sucked tongue. His fingers and teeth left transient bruises. Derek wished they could last a week. The firm press of flesh on flesh. Stiles gripping his cock. Stiles all over him, moaning, coming apart. Derek fell backward into a burst of starlight. No more darkness. Every muscle in his body tensed and quivered. He drew taut and released. And their scents mingled into one glorious amalgamation. A signature aroma. His whole house was going to smell like that—his bed, his sheets, his towels, his clothes. He might never leave home again._

It ended in what seemed like silence, but was actually desperate, shuddering gasps. Sweat slicked flesh went lax under their hands. Derek used his supernatural strength to brace them both as their legs shook. Stiles slumped into him, deboned, and Derek slid an arm around his waist. Their muscles were pliant, creating a softness under Stiles' skin. Derek snuggled into it.

“I wish I could see you, right now,” he said, backing Stiles into a corner, getting as close as he could. “Soft and wet. Pupils blown wide. Muscles fucked loose. Lips swollen. I want you to wrap that wicked mouth around me, Stiles. Suck me back to life.”

“Oh, dude, have some mercy,” Stiles said on a breathless moan. “If you could hear yourself. Oh, my God. I got nothing left. I think your hand job is better than sex. I can't even...I just can't.”

“I bet you can.”

“Shit! What? Did you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

“Asshole,” Stiles said, slapping weakly at his upper arm. “Duplicitous fucker. I mean, I'm happy for you, and all, but...how could you just let me say those things?”

“Don’t do that,” Derek said, his fingers questing up to find the thumbnail Stiles had started chewing on. He give the hand a tug. Stiles let him have it. The touch was gentle, but Derek frowned as he said, “Don’t worry. It was sexy.”

“When did you...? What did you hear?”

“When you said my name.”

“I said your name about a million times.”

“I know,” Derek said, sliding back a bit and flashing a cocky grin.

Stiles couldn't laugh, though he knew Derek wanted him to. How could they relax? Make this normal, just a moment between friends. This felt momentous. More than he could take.

“Not before I got in the shower, right? Please tell me you didn't hear that.”

“What did you say before we got in the shower?”

“I can't remember,” Stiles mumbled. “But it was completely appropriate.”

_And now it’s awkward. Shit. Derek let go of Stiles, backed away. He ducked under the stream of the shower to clear his head. Most of the hot water was gone. Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut all of a sudden? And, if he had to talk, why couldn't he say anything right? Stiles could be so witty. Derek listened, heard him come closer. Close. But not close enough. Unbelievable. Still horny. Both of them. How was that even possible? He could hear Stiles rinsing off, getting rid of their mingled scent. It should stay on him. He should never leave Derek's side, again. But, if he did. If he wandered into the world...Derek wanted him marked. Mine. Not the Alpha’s. Not Lydia’s. Mine. My Stiles. Fucked well and happy._

“Can you talk to me?” Stiles asked, as Derek shut off the taps. “Do you want me to go? Because this is awkward.”

“No.”

“You still want a blow job?”

“Yes.”

“Guess I don't need to be on my feet for that, right?”

Derek took a deep breath, head low. Stiles watched him. His eyes traced the triskelion as he waited for a snarl, some sign from a large dangerous animal that he'd crossed the line. Warning. Warning. Werewolf in close proximity. Muscles tensed. Ready to spring. Unpredictable. A frisson of fear raised the hairs on the back of Stiles' neck. What were they doing here? What did he want to do? His stomach filled with butterflies. He could feel every sphincter tightening, as Derek turned back to him.

“No. But...what I want is—what I want—is…”

 _Even blind he couldn't face it, this need in him to belong, to be mastered. Let Stiles go. He wants to go. Nobody sane wants to fuck you, Derek. And you don't want a man. Half mad on the full moon? Sure. Almost anything goes in the right company. He'd let that pair of bitch Omegas ream his ass in Tijuana. That didn't mean he liked it. He hadn't even come for them. Just let them use him. And he barely remembered it. Blood. Bruising. Punishment. He'd been violently ill afterwards. Would he let a human inside like that? No. Stiles? Hell no! This was already too awkward. He blew a long exhale through tense lips._ _Just say it. Just tell him._

“You. Inside. Fucking me. Hard. Like you said. Let's do it.”

“Oh, my God! Are you sure you can hear yourself? Because this is not you.”

“It is.”

Stiles shuffled backward. “Right, so, you've come out. And I don't hate it. Because, I might be ambisextrous... But seriously, dude...?”

“Problems?” Derek said.

“Ninety-nine plus problems,” Stiles said. “And Lydia is definitely one. Derek…? Look, I was just so turned on by the hot water and your hot hands everywhere. But, I don’t know if I can…carry on...taking advantage of your...condition.”

“If you don't want to, then...you should go.”

“Yeah. So you know, that's reading dickish to me. Maybe you don't realize, but telling me to leave, just because I hesitate to put out makes you sound like a pushy son of a bitch. Which you are.”

“That's not what I meant,” Derek snarled. “It's just.. It's over.”

_Over. It was over. He must have been out of his mind to suggest... Because it was a horrible idea. He was relieved. He was. Maybe. He was, also, sort of nauseated. Angry. Exhausted. Embarrassed. Alone. This was why he didn't open up to people. His depths were too deep. Emotions flooded him. And he turned stupid. Needy. A dominate receiver. Fucked up. Fucked over. Kate and Jennifer and Peter all pushing him around. His shoulders tensed. He tried to shrug it out. Cold. Shivering. Empty. God, he needed Stiles to fix this, be kind to him. Heat him up again, help him relax. And he didn't want to need anyone. It was too dangerous. Hadn't he learned his lesson from Paige and Kate and Jennifer? How many lessons did he need?_

_So, he'd lost his eyesight and hearing and bearings. And in the confusion, he'd gotten his wires crossed, somehow. Shit happened in the dark. You could trip and fall. He'd gotten turned around. Ended up gay for Stiles. But he could find his way now. Orient himself to the world. He patted over to the towel rod. Grabbing the lone towel, he ducked under it to cover his face, wanting to hide. The last thing he needed was to show any more weakness. Come on, Derek, get it together. Walk away. Mutual masturbation was a party game. Everybody did it. No big deal. Shut it down. Step away from the school boy._

“Over. Is that what you think? It's over?” Stiles shoved the shower door open and stomped out into the room, careless about slipping. Concern drew Derek out of hiding, but he didn't feel up to explaining himself.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“You don't want to talk? Big surprise.” Stiles went to the pile of clean towels and started drying off vigorously. He muttered curses under his breath for a bit and then said, “So now we have this groping out of our system, we can just go back to our old lives. Good to know.”

“If you don't want more, then...”

“I didn't say that. I didn't say I didn't want more,” Stiles said. “I just never have. If you are thinking I have, then I’ve misrepresented my experience level.”

_Like I give a fuck. Don't taunt the werewolf, Stiles. You should know better._

“And I don’t even know what we’re doing here…like this.” Taking a moment to think about everything they'd just done, Stiles paused. He watched Derek place his towel back on the rod, feel his way to the opening and step out of the tub, before continuing. “You're my friend. And I'm a cheating weasel, I guess. And you...?”

_...are weak. Pathetic. Crazy. Breakable. You could break me, Stiles. I can feel the give inside when you press down on me like this. If we push this any further... If I let you...let you...if you just one time...came into me. Then, we will see what happens next. Because I don't know._

“I don't know about you right now. Are you helpless? Angry?”

“I'm not angry.” Derek said. And Stiles threw a towel at him. It puffed against his face and fell. He caught it, before it reached hip level.

“Could have fooled me. Look, don't stand there naked and scowling. I want you, okay? I do.”

_You want me. Have me. I'm yours. Say. You. Will._

“But tomorrow you are going to wake up sober and straight.”

_Tomorrow, I will follow you around at heel, dogging your steps like a fucking cocker spaniel._

“What do _you_ want, Stiles?”

“I don't know, Derek. When you kiss me, when you touch me, I can’t even think straight.” Stiles laughed. “No pun intended.”

“In that case,” Derek said, lunging forward, ”let me make this easy for you."

Using body heat and motion to guide his strike, he located Stiles easily. He'd be as good as Deucalion with this by tomorrow. He all but threw Stiles into the shower door. It banged. _Don't hurt him. Be gentle. Firm. But gentle._ He pressed along Stiles, breathed down his neck. Walking his fingertips from chest to throat, he found a soft cheek, rotated the head and initiated a kiss that lasted until they were forced to break for air. They separated only slightly; it felt like being torn in two.

“Fuck me, Stiles.”

“It's not...”

Derek plunged them under the influence, again, kissing, caressing. He grazed his fingertips down Stiles, making taut stomach muscles quiver. Grabbing a handful of ass and an arm, he gently, but firmly, faced Stiles into a corner, sliding around behind him, using tongue and teeth on his shoulders. A growl rumbled low in his throat.

_Quake. Tremble. Try to escape. And I'll hunt you down. Scream if you want it rougher than this. He was losing control. Werewolves did in the heat of attraction. But his kind healed. Stiles wouldn't. You could damage humans, permanently. Thank God, Stiles knew better than to struggle. He reached up to clutch at Derek's hair, his fingers yanking too hard. Tugging on the leash. Settle. Settle Derek. Remember where you are. Who you are. Derek sighed. He wanted blood, still, but he wouldn't hurt Stiles. Gently, he cupped his balls, weighing them in his palm. Stiles shivered and squeaked. Like prey. Damn. Derek's fingers tightened, nearly too much, but not quite. His mouth flooded with saliva. His bite force turned bruising and he sucked until he could taste blood just under the skin._

“Alright. You win. Holy crap. I will. I want to. You jerk bastard.”

_Surrender. Sweet. Smart bunny._

Derek released Stiles' balls and licked the mark he'd just created. “You love me. You said so.”

“I did not,” Stiles said, but the quaver in his voice told Derek he might have. “Did I? Well, I take it back. Because you suck. And not in any good way.”

He jabbed an elbow into Derek's ribs, forcing him to move or turn forceful again. Derek relented. Breathing heavily, he stepped away. The release happened so abruptly Stiles staggered. Instinctively, Derek put a hand out to steady him. And just that one touch, skin on skin, drew sighs out of them both. Derek shifted close again. He embraced Stiles, folding the towel he'd thrown back around him, coddling him now. Chaste kisses were laid on top of the bruising. Stiles sniffed and fumbled with drying off again. Derek winced at the catch in his breath.

“Did I hurt you?”

“You scared me, you psycho werewolf jackass! Good to know you could kill me, maul me, have your way with me whenever it suits you.”

“No. Not easily. You didn't try to stop me.”

“Stop you? Right!” He laughed. It was a bitter sound without any humor.

“You always can. Just...don't be scared.”

“What was that, then?”

“Instinct. Werewolf stuff. I want you.”

“Yeah, talk about unbridled desire,” Stiles said giving a snort. This time his chuckle sounded shaky but lighter, genuine. “I didn't miss that you wanted me. You are not subtle. I know you are on the edge right now, but...stop Jekyll and Hyding all over the place.”

“Okay.”

“You don't deserve my sex confessions.”

_He didn't deserve Stiles. Love. Tenderness. No need to remind him of that. He'd left Stiles bruised, and nearly bloodied. That was what he did. He hurt people. They hurt him. There was nothing even remotely lovable about him. He could be useful. People used him. They didn't want to know him, love him. So, he'd lied. To lighten the mood. Pretending, for a moment, that he and Stiles were more than horny friends._

“I was kidding.”

_He tried to look sheepish, difficult for a werewolf. Listening for the sharp inhale, he could tell when Stiles’ mouth dropped open._

“You liar. You didn't hear me confess anything?” He came at Derek, smacking him, but not hard. “Payback is coming. I'm going to fuck you until you are nothing but grateful. Don't push a man who has a vivid imagination and a streaming porn connection, Derek.”

Derek chuckled. “Sorry. Sorry. I'll be good.”

“How old are you? Five?’

“Twenty-two Wolf Moons,” Derek said, sobering as he owned his age. He sighed heavily, slinking toward the living room. “And thank you for reminding me that I'm breaking the law.”

“No, feel guilty. You should. But not about that. Because I thought you were 30.”

“30? Jesus.”

"You are not ageing well, buddy." Stiles followed him, bare feet slapping on tile. “Too much hard living. Not enough good times. Unless... Are you lying again? Friends don't lie to friends who agree to homosexual dalliances. How can you be 22? That means you were like twelve in High School.”

“Eleven,” Derek said. “We mature faster. At least, we look mature, earlier. Real wolves are sexually mature at three. Werewolf metabolism kicks puberty's ass. How do you think Cora survived?”

“That explains a lot about you, actually. So, how many years do you have left?” Stiles said, stepping close. “Are you like a Great Dane? Should we stop wasting time, here?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has agreed to give Derek what he wants. However, Derek isn't sure that Stiles is really into this. Derek is still struggling with neediness. Stiles wants him to be happy. Worlds and bodies collide. This chapter deals with sustained male orgasm. This can be quite an arresting experience for a man. Especially if he's never done it before. But it does feel very good, if the man has the right receptors for it. Derek does. So don't worry about him, too much.

**SKIN ON SKIN**  
by Rabid1st  
TeenWolf – Sterek  
 **Rating:** Mature/Explicit  
 **Word Count:** 5200 this part...about 15,000 total.  
 **Warnings:** M/M Sex. Violence. Triggering for noncon touching. Actually Dubcon in places. Underage (Stiles is 17 yoa). This is not rough sex kink, but the interaction is confusing for both men. Bottom!Derek is not a submissive. He just needs something new and different in this situation.  
 **Beta Babes:** Elsecarlass & Birthsister  
 **Spoilers:** Set in theoretical S4, some implications through S3a  
 **Summary:** Blind!Derek fic. When Derek is sprayed by a wereskunk he is blinded, deafened and left without his sense of smell. He shifts and becomes unmanageable. Stiles is the only one that can help him. The sensory deprivation has some astounding effects on Derek as he gives in to exploring taste and texture. He wants Stiles. Stiles wants him. The non-con parts of this fic are based on Stiles trying not to surrender to their mutual desire. It is not good timing for Stiles and so he resists.  
 **Disclaimer:** Teen Wolf and all of the characters belong to someone else, MTV or Jeff Davis or assorted parent companies. I write this for the amusement of myself and other fans of the show and expect no compensation beyond fandom feels.

On AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/975296/chapters/1942021

PART THREE

_Oh, sweet, sweet Stiles. We should definitely stop wasting time. I could live for a hundred years and never get enough of you. Derek smiled. It felt strange. When had smiling become alien to him? For a second or two he entertained the idea of being happy again. He could visualize exactly how Stiles looked. He'd have his chin tucked in, those brandy-colored eyes peering up from beneath heavy brows, full lips parted. Derek missed that look, like he missed moonlight and stars. He couldn't imagine never seeing it again. When had he fallen in love with that face? It hadn’t been at first sight._

_He’d hated Stiles at first sight. Silly whelp. Though hate and love were supposedly intertwined. Stiles kept trying to cheer him up. Don't be such a sourwolf? Positivity just isn't in your vocabulary, is it? Not so much. No. But Stiles always made him reconsider. They'd built trust, layer on layer. Grown comfortable with one another. Stiles could make him laugh. Wow! He laughs. Somewhere a baby angel just got a puppy. Stiles had his back. Stiles stood up to him and protected him, too. He never took Derek seriously. The big, bad wolf. Yeah. Right._

_In retrospect, Derek realized he'd been noticing Stiles for awhile, subconsciously, finding him attractive. He’d cataloged the strength in him, his wrists, his beautiful hands, the pouting mouth, the way his t-shirts hung loose over hard muscle. Stiles could be hard and soft, feminine and masculine. The best of both worlds for a nearly straight guy like Derek. All those careless touches, skin brushing skin, seemed to mean more in light of their recent shower. But hand to the Nemeton, Derek had never thought about kissing Stiles. Hadn't craved his mouth, his touch, his cock. Not until he'd tasted those lips for the first time._

_In the senseless dark, it had been like a breaker being thrown. That first kiss. Bam! Enlightenment. Did that even happen in real life? Maybe not. It felt dangerous to call it love. Infatuation. Intoxication. Maybe this was just…temporary. A hormonal side effect of the wereskunk toxins. Some type of sex pollen, fueling inhibitions. He'd have to check the bestiary to know. Maybe they should wait for his eyesight to return. Take a couple of days to think this over. Maybe Stiles was right to hesitate about going further._

_There it was. His prison closing in on him again, isolating him, numbing his ardor. No. No. Damn it. He was sick of being buried alive. The love gods owed him. They kept kicking him and tricking him. How many mistakes could one man make? He was due for a win. And he was so very careful, cultivating anger all the time. Building walls. He barely made eye contact these days. Jennifer had been a fucking school teacher. Deceptively submissive, like Stiles. She'd reeked with the same power. Druid. Like Stiles. So, he wanted an emissary. A strong hand on his leash. Was that so wrong? Stiles didn’t kill people. Stiles had a heart so big it scared him. Stiles, also, had a girlfriend. And a father with a gun. Stiles was still in high school. And Derek was going to ruin him. But he wanted this so much it was like a fire in his chest. This one would break him if it went wrong. Hell. Right or wrong, this one would be the last one._

“We should...maybe...wait,” he said, hating himself for voicing the doubt. He turned to block the bathroom exit, one hand lifting to caress Stiles' cheek.

“No, we should not,” Stiles said, pushing into his belly, shoving him back onto the hard wood floors. “You're the one who bullied me into this. You are not turning reasonable on me now.”

Derek kept his balance easily, but the intimate contact made his hackles rise. _Don't go for the soft parts of an injured animal. Risk your life like that. Trigger me. Damn it, Stiles! Do you want it rough?_  
  
“Stiles,” he said, layering a warning in his tone. “I'm serious. You wanted to stop.”

“No,” Stiles said. He stretched the negative like melted mozzarella, like Derek was an idiot. “I wanted to understand. Now, I do.”

“Enlighten me.”

“He wants to talk,” Stiles said, exasperated. He sighed, and then launched into a rapid fire explanation. “I know this isn’t your preference, guys. You're straight. And you don’t find me attractive.”

“I do,” Derek said.

“Now that you can't see me? Right, okay! Say I believe that. You didn’t want me before. Or maybe you did. But you wouldn’t have acted on it. It probably never would have crossed your mind, except I kissed you. But see, I wanted to kiss you. I just needed a good excuse. I don't want to stop, because I’ve been waiting forever. Not for you. For this feeling. This certainty. I thought I could have it with Lydia. I did. She’s got a tiny dog. And designer shoes, Derek. Perfect skin. And she smells great. And the sex is good, really good.”

“Fuck Lydia.” _He didn't want to hear this. Derek didn't care if he sounded angry. He didn't want to know how great she was for Stiles. How much he loved her._

“Let me finish,” Stiles said, sounding just as angry as Derek did. Smelling like a man who knew more than Derek ever would. Smart, capable Stiles. In command despite his fears. “What I'm saying is...I like her. She's a huge part of my life. Featured in every dream about the future I've ever had. But we aren’t going to work like the happy-ever-after stories. And I want you to know, it's not because of you. It’s because I would do this. I would cheat on her. Okay, probably only with you. You, in this state, but that’s not the point. The point is…well…I didn't know you could do this to me before tonight.”

 _Break you. Hurt you. Make you unfaithful by pushing too hard. Destroy your happy ever after story? Every dream you've ever had of the perfect future? All with her._ “Great! I ruined your life. Tell her that. Blame me.”

“God, Derek!” Stiles actually ground his teeth together. “It's not about blame. And I'm not sorry. I'm saying I would do this again and again. You pretty much made my life tonight. This is who I am. And, yeah, it scares me. You push me, I push back. You need me, I need you. I’m part of your pack. Or we are both part of Scott’s, I guess. I belong in the world of the Nemeton. It's dark and scary in the woods, but that's where I want to be. In a house in the woods with a couple of kids and—someone, someone who cares if I make it home. I want to feel whole. Not like a work in progress. And when you came apart on me in that room that’s what I felt. Necessary. Vital.”

 _Stiles wanted this. Needed it? They both dreamed of the same house. Maybe. Hard to imagine he could be the someone for anyone._ “I made your life?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, so softly Derek could barely hear him.

“What if tomorrow we wake up and it’s gone?” Derek said.

“Good point. See? We definitely shouldn’t wait.” He took Derek's hand, squeezing his fingers a little. Then, he yanked him around, towing him toward the bed. The irreverent school boy returned as he asked, “Why do you always have your bed on display? Are you proud of your bed, Derek? Do you hope orgies will break out spontaneously?”

“I like open spaces.”

Someone banged on the door and they both started. “Stiles? It’s me,” Scott called, from the hallway. “I know you’re in there. I can smell you. Dude, is that therapeutic sex?”

“Fucking werewolves,” Stiles said, cinching his towel tighter. “Always sticking their noses in.” He gave Derek a pat. “I’ll be right back. Hold all of those thoughts.”

 _Hold these thoughts? Dark ones about fetish driven sex...in the middle of a farce? Did he want spontaneous orgies? Maybe. Why was his bed on display? Too funny. Even Stiles misunderstanding his attraction. Thinking Derek didn't want him. Having a meltdown over interruptions. Scott at the door. Smelling the sex and...commenting on it. Maybe Derek's dark past didn't need to loom so large. Brooding just came off as ridiculous in this pack. Nobody took him seriously. A guffaw caught in the back of his throat. He let go, started laughing and couldn’t seem to stop. And maybe that was how it should be. Maybe a life with Stiles would be full of laughter. If he just let go of tragedy, maybe he wouldn't be an Omega. If he stopped cringing inside every time someone approached him, he might just enjoy the little moments._  
  
As Stiles bounced off to deal with the Alpha, Derek swept a hand out, locating the bed less than a foot away. He dropped into it, still chuckling as he curled up on the blankets. He spread his towel across his hips for privacy and focused on what was happening at the door.

“This is an actual apartment building, Scott,” Stiles said, when he yanked the door open. “We have neighbors.”

“We? Wow! Things are really progressing. Hey, Derek!”

“Fuck off, Scott,” Derek called.

Scott chuckled. “He’s feeling better.”

“He still can’t see and we have some…healing to do.”

“I so have your back,” Scott said. There was a crinkle of paper, like a small bag being crumpled during an exchange of hands. “I stopped at the pharmacy for the eye wash and picked you up a few essentials. Just in case.”

“Like a toothbrush?”

“Packed that from your house,” he said and dropped a heavy satchel to the floor. “Shoes. Socks. Underwear. Shirt. Deodorant. I know you have some sex supplies of your own, in that box in your closet, but I didn’t want to…see them, you know? Have any idea. And I figure Derek never gets laid, so what are the odds he has anything on hand?”

“I can hear you,” Derek said.

“You are welcome, dude,” Scott said, pitching his voice to carry. He returned to what Derek imagined Scott considered a discrete volume and addressed Stiles. “I just bought what you might need. Lube. Condoms. Not that you can get STD's or pregnant. At least, we hope not.” Scott’s tone turned positively gleeful as he smacked into Stiles in what Derek thought must be a bruising hug. “My brothers. Finally getting it. This is the best thing, ever.”

Stiles was smiling. Derek could hear it in his voice when he said goodbye. He locked the door again. And padded back across the floor to Derek’s bedside.

“Scott is way too happy for us.”

“I noticed.”

“I think he won some kind of bet with Isaac. Or maybe my dad.”

“Don’t even joke about that. And I do have lubricant. Somewhere. Maybe the bathroom. I'm not completely celibate.”

“Are the bottles dusty?” Stiles asked, carelessly fanning his towel out on the bed, wafting a breeze across Derek's skin.

He shivered with the cool air and anticipation. His nipples pulled taut. Throwing out an arm in invitation, he smiled up at Stiles, looking relaxed. Stiles flopped down next to him, cuddling close. His dick nudged against Derek's side. The sole of one foot brushed up Derek’s calf. And a paper bag tipped over on his chest, spilling out a couple of tubes and packages. Derek poked at the pile, confused. But Stiles wasn’t one to keep him in the dark.

“My boy, Scott,” Stiles crowed, lifting one of the tubes away, “brings us quality. Liquid Silk. And, yes!” A bottle vanished. “This stuff keeps you up for an hour. Okay, not you, Mr. Fast Metabolizer. But me. We should send Scott a card. Like, thanks for assisting us in our debauchery. There’s probably an e-card for that. You want to medicate? Rinse out your eyes? Kick start the healing?”

“Maybe we should wait until after...” Derek couldn't believe he'd just said that. On the other hand, why risk complications. “There might be side effects. Seizures with my luck.”

“I think your luck is turning, buddy. Let's see,” Stiles plucked up one of the boxes. Derek pushed the remaining package off his body and to the side of the bed. “It says it doesn't sting. For veterinary use. Ha! Four drops in each eye, twice a day, and blink. That's from Deaton. The werewolf dosage. Do not drive? Are they kidding? Yes, don't drive while you are blind.” He mumbled as he applied his teeth to the plastic wrap. “Also, don't let your dog drive. Good advice.” Shifting his weight, he said, “Look up. I'll do one eye.”

Derek caught his forearm, holding him off. “Do not drive means it makes your drowsy. I do not want to be drowsy right now, Stiles. I want to be very awake. It's not going to cure me tonight, so, it can wait an hour.”

“Really? Staying blind a little longer? This is the choice you make?” Stiles did his patented head bob, Derek felt the rocking motion. “You do need to get laid.”

Derek levered into a partial sit-up, bracing on an elbow. He raised both eyebrows, doing his best to level a 'my point exactly' stare in the direction of Stiles' breathing.

“And I'm all inspired now,” Stiles said, scrambling back a little. “To hell with medical care.”

Setting the eye drops on the bedside table, he searched for and found one of the other packages. He worried it open, using his mouth again.

_Nibbling, biting, sucking, teeth tearing into plastic. The enticing little noises drove Derek out of his head. He wanted to skitter after them, like a fox digging for a vole._

“Your mouth. Put it to better use.”

_He'd said that aloud. Damn. Why did he always sound so angry?_

“Anger is not your friend, Derek. I'm your friend. Your bro. Your fuck buddy. Pour some sugar on me.”

“No,” Derek said. “Not friends.”

“What? Because you want my mouth on you?”

“Yes.”

“Where? How? Tell me.” He tweaked Derek's nipple. “Here?”

Derek groaned. Stiles chuckled low and sexy. Derek lunged for him, but he ducked away, spilling off the bed to easily avoid Derek's half-hearted grab.

“Unh-uh. No more of that.”

He circled the bed. Derek crouched, head cocked to listen. Stiles knew it would be child's play to follow his progress by the ragged sound of his breathing and the slap of his bare feet. But he did his best to move like a predator, preparing to strike. He came up behind Derek, stepping carefully, but with zero chance of catching him off guard. He didn’t really want to startle him. This was a stalking game, designed to heighten anticipation. Instead of pouncing, Stiles crept onto the bed. Kneeling he wrapped both arms around Derek’s chest, lube-slicked fingers sliding across his skin, pulling his peaked nipples. Stiles breathed down his neck. He licked at the edge of soft beard.

“Here?”

“Yes,” Derek hissed. “Bite. Suck. Harder.”

Stiles’ grip tightened to contain him. Derek’s head dropped back, exposing his throat in classic surrender. Stiles savaged it, channelling his inner Alpha.

_A little blunt toothed cub attacking. Warm lips and breath tickled along his jugular. Stiles. Fierce. Impulsive. A volatile combination. Derek had always suspected Stiles harboured some Alpha tendencies, from the day he’d threatened to abandon him to his fate, dragging his little werewolf ass into the street to die. He'd make a great Alpha. Or a scary one, Derek hastily amended. Stiles had enough power over him already. No need to give him more._

_Arching into Stiles, gripping his thigh, his head. Wanting so much more. Needing. Stiles. More than his friend. Fuck buddy? Lover? Derek twisted his neck to find those lips. Kissed them. Tongue probing. Teeth clicking into teeth, the meeting an electric shock. Stiles had a perfect mouth. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Where he wanted it next. How it bowed. How it tasted. Yielding, redolent with scent. Luscious. Magical, as it slid away from the kiss and traced lower. Slicking over Derek's ribs and abs. Yes. That’s what he wanted. More tongue. Teeth. Sucking. Feeling totally vulnerable, he startled like a virgin when Stiles went all the way down on him, biting at his inner thigh, blowing heat over his balls._

“This? Here?”

“Yes.” _Oral sex. Always welcome. He'd asked for it earlier. Yet, a tremor of uncertainty made him tentative. He wanted this. But he'd never done anything like this with a man. Not just a man, Stiles._ “It's... I'm...just…”

“Nervous? Me, too.”

_He'd been expecting Stiles to say “an ass.” The sympathy struck a far deeper cord in him than anything else could have. He gave in to it. Nodding. His fingers found one of Stiles' hands and gripped it. They were in new territory now. Derek willingly surrendered everything he'd ever been, content to be here. And in good hands. The best hands. Sighing, he relaxed back into his pillow._

“Anywhere, Stiles. Everywhere.”

“Give me a minute.”

Stiles took a breather, pausing in his licking explorations to cast his gaze over Derek. He was shaking, Stiles could feel the little shudders under his fingers and tongue. But Derek seemed pretty sure of what he wanted. Splayed and ready for whatever Stiles chose to do next. Beautiful. Blind. Stiles felt a huge sense of responsibility for how this went. He'd never taken charge like this before and he wondered what roll of the cosmic dice had delivered this into his life, put him in charge of Derek Hale's good time. 

“You're uncut, like me,” he observed, before running his tongue up Derek's length. He flicked the tip. “Couldn't circumcise you, of course. You'd just heal.”

“Natural born, yeah.”

“Fucking gorgeous. And tasty.”

“You like it, Stiles?”

“Sucking you off? Yeah. A lot more than I thought I would."

"Take it all, baby. Wish I could watch."

"Shut up! Everything I ever wanted done to me, I'm going to do to you. So, pay attention.” He hummed a happy little tune as he engulfed Derek, swallowing an impressive number of inches.

 _Submerged in Stiles. Damn. So different from anyone else. Better. Clenching. Tongue swirling. Slick probing heat. Deep throating like a porn star. What that must look like? Imagine it. Derek's heart slammed into his ribcage. He arched as he envisioned it. Where the hell had Stiles learned to suck like that? Slurping like Derek’s dick was a Popsicle. This just had to be right. Good for him. Because it was going to become a habit. Every night before bed. Like flossing. Read a little. Get sucked off by Stiles. Wake up. Get sucked off by Stiles. What is that he's humming? Rap? The clicking tongue is really too much. Intoxicating. The noises were making Derek drunk and reckless. Claws out, Derek dug into the blankets. His hips lifted, thrusting into a gag that triggered a flow of saliva. Stiles backed off, almost prompting Derek to attack. But the urge abandoned him when Stiles sang a snatch of the song he'd been humming._  
  
“It feels like one of those nights,” Stiles sang, gulping over the words as he drew breath. “We won't be sleeping. It feels like one of those nights. You look like bad news. I got to have you.”

“Damn it, Stiles,” Derek said, a stifled laugh stinging his nose. “Will you settle down?”

“No,” Stiles said. “Have a good time, Derek. You know you want to. Ladies love the humming.”

Shimmying through a dance move, he sang another verse. Then, he lunged up Derek’s body to kiss him. Not a savage, hard kiss, but a meltingly sweet one. They spent a few minutes just rubbing all over one another, tongues sweeping into hungry mouths, fingers combing through each other’s hair. Derek pulled Stiles into him, running his hands up his back. Stiles laughed, grabbed a pillow and slithered lower. He urged Derek’s hips up and slipped the pillow under him, before he went back to humming and sucking. His slippery fingers teased every place his lips missed. They played over Derek’s balls, along his inner thighs and further back and around. The pillow allowed him better access to some delightfully sensitive areas.

_Derek sang along in his head. How did he even know these lyrics? He didn't listen to the Top-40. Didn't own a radio. And he couldn't place the artist. Maybe Cora had the song on her phone. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling 22. Everything will be alright if you keep me next to you. You don't know about me. But I bet you want to. Everything will be alright if we just keep dancing like we're 22. Have a good time, Derek. In bed. With Stiles. Twenty-two. Not the Alpha. Not an Omega. Not the last survivor, heir to an impossible legacy. Something new. Young. Fresh. New family. New life. Stiles every day, like flossing. Working lubricated fingers into him, now. Twisting them in. Oh. Oh. Yes. Derek couldn’t believe how good it felt. He’d expected it to hurt a little. Thought he would jump or clench. Resent it on some level. But, it was incredible. Just...not enough._

“All of you, Stiles, come on,” he said.

Stiles stopped sucking for moment. Derek shivered. “Two fingers is a lot, Derek. Don’t rush it.”

“Fuck that. Werewolf. You can't hurt me.”

“You want my cock, Derek? Is that what you're saying?”

“Yes.”

“Will it make you happy?”

“Yes,” Derek snarled, shoving Stiles’ face back into his groin. “It will.”

_He’d come undone. Like some romance heroine. What the fuck? Happy? Werewolves weren't happy woodland creatures. Frolicking around like Bambi on ice. He was going to defile Stiles if the boy kept teasing him. Gut him. Fury and need and affection wrestled for top spot in his brain. He wanted to be fucked and come and Stiles just didn't care. He was a heartless son of a bitch. And merciless. Was this what Derek wanted? To be teased by that tongue for an hour? Given two fingers and a hard time? Fuck that._

_Stiles returned to his slow sucking. Fingers pumping in and out, avoiding any extra stimulation. Because he was evil. Because Derek had that kind of luck. The little bastard probably did kill people, blew them to death. Prodded and licked and hummed men into cardiac arrest. How the hell had they ended up here? Derek surrendering everything? Stiles laughing at him? So amused by it all. Those artful fingers found Derek's scent glands and the hot spot between them. His hips jerked. And Stiles scissored into his prostate._

“Motherfucker. You little slut bastard. I’m going to fuck you wide open. I'm going to bury my teeth in your neck and screw you 'til you can’t walk. Stiles? Do you hear me?”

“I do,” Stiles said, over the rush of blood in Derek's ears. He sounded dangerously calm. “You don’t sound happy, Derek. Maybe we should get this over with.”

“Wha'? What?” Derek panted. “No.”

“You want to come, right? I can make that happen.”

_Shit. He didn’t want it to end. Not yet. But you just couldn't intimidate Stiles. Threaten to rip out his throat with your teeth and you might get him to drive you to a doctor's office. Say you intend to fuck him up during sex and he makes you come. Stiles worked his fingers into the perfect position and sucked like he was going after the last sip of a malted milk shake. Bolts of pleasure, curled Derek forward. His cock squeezed out achy pearls of fluid. He seized Stiles, stilling the bob of his head with rough hands. Not yet. Damn you. No. No._

_Think about something else, Derek. History. Politics. Starving childen. A pole through your fucking chest. Anything but Stiles sucking you dry. Stiles swallowing, gagging on too much cream. His fingers found no purchase in Stiles’ hair, skidded down to his neck, worked along his muscled shoulders. The picture his sense of touch drew threw Derek over the edge. And then, it was far too late to stop spurting. His hips bounced, pushing him deeper into that mouth. Stiles drained him as he hit the atmosphere. But as Derek fell back to Earth, Stiles abandoned him. Brain functions offline, momentarily disoriented, Derek grasped at air, afraid but melting into a languid sense of contentment. Oh, my God._

“Stiles? Where are you?”

“Here,” Stiles said, lifting Derek's leg to his shoulder. “Tell me if this hurts,” he added, as he pushed into him, going deep.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fucking. No condom. Bare skin. Rigid cock. So big. Too much. He was too relaxed and Stiles was too slick. It just went so far in. Shit. Derek tried to squirm away. Not because it hurt. It didn't hurt. It...was like...being occupied. Filled. Pierced to the quick. Like nothing he'd ever felt before and just what he'd always wanted. Not punishment. Stimulation. Tenderness and authority, keeping him on the brink of ecstasy. His gut contracted. His prostate thrummed. He needed Stiles out of him, and further in. And Stiles kept obliging those needs. Sliding in and out. Stiles holding him down, lifting him up._

_Derek couldn’t catch his breath. He tried and realized he was mewling. Like a pup. Like the motherless child he was underneath all of the scowling and threats. Deep inside. At the core of his being. Where Stiles was now. Thoroughly fucking him. An endless tickling. That's what it was like. Laura used to tickle him until his laughing turned to hiccups. And pleasure became something like pain. Intense. Under his skin._

_Stiles under his skin. The thought of it made him want to come again. Only he couldn't come, because he hadn't recovered. You didn’t keep going. You didn’t keep going after ejaculating, at least, not for very long. He was spent. Hyper-sensitive. But Stiles didn't care. He wasn’t stopping and every time he thrust deep he hit that spot. Safe word. They needed a safe word. Derek couldn't muster enough brain cells back to work. Each slithering pulse of cock, each slap of skin on skin, sent a blast of tingles crawling along every muscle. Electric jolts. Short circuiting his reason. Shockwaves. Like Derek was being tasered with bliss. Too much stimulation. Too much. It triggered a champagne fizz of healing energy. One of those fireworks that continues to sizzle after the bang. Bang. Sizzle. Bang. Sizzle. Bang. Bang. Bang._

"Holy, God. What is that?”

“Healing,” Derek managed to grunt. “Changing.”

“Does it hurt? Am I hurting you?”

“No. No.”

“Okay. Okay. Good,” Stiles panted. “Because your ass is full of fizzing bubbles. And you are so tight. Slick, but...you want it. Yeah, just like that. Damn! Derek! You are the best fuck.”

“Jesus. Stiles. No more. I can’t breathe. I can’t come again.”

“Want to stop?”

_Yes. Yes. Say yes. End it, before it kills you. Only a groan escaped him. He'd forgotten how to say yes. A quick shake of his head. No. Because Stiles would stop if he asked. He would. And this might be the only time they would ever do this. And he never wanted it to end._

“Yeah. Didn't think so. You move like you want it.”

“Can’t let you go, Stiles.”

“Don’t. Fuck me. Hold on. You take all that pain. Take this.”

_He was going to cry. Maybe he was crying. He tasted salt on his lips. Felt a stinging in his eyes. One arm came up to cover his face. Unable to flee, he wanted to hide. Or bite, rip into flesh. He could turn. Save himself. Break Stiles. He could sink his teeth in, make it stop. That would end it. And it would be over. He rode out the anger. Latched on to shame. He should, at least, be on his knees for this, looking away with his blind eyes. Being used. Not face up, splayed on his back. Belly and balls exposed. Throat unprotected. Oh, he'd wanted to crawl when they’d started this. Be taken from behind, and then wallow in misery. Sex. Anger. Regret. His personal trifecta._

_But Stiles wouldn't let him regret one second of this. Stiles wanted to make him happy. Wanted to see it on his face. Derek's righteous fury abandoned him, leaving behind a need to be seen. He moved his arm. Look at me, Stiles. See what you've done. He wanted Stiles to know him. Wanted it like Christmas. Like he wanted someone to hold him at night. But he was coming apart and he wasn't going to survive it. Stiles was wrong about that. Wrong about him. He wasn't strong enough to be laid open. He had to make him understand that._

“That's it, Derek. Let me in.”

“Stiles? Please.”

“Derek. Just...let...go,” Stiles said, grunting between words.

“I can't. I can't.”

“Shhhh, Alright. I'm sorry,” Stiles said. He stroked Derek's belly. “Maybe you can't.”

“Don't stop. Make me...make me.”

“Derek? God. Derek.” He rocked in a frenetic rhythm. “Almost done. Almost there.”

_The stuttering thrusts told him Stiles was losing it, too. Fucking him hard. Hands demanding, as he levered Derek's knees open, parting them a little more. Then, he made a noise, a primal plea and they were changing positions. Stiles taking charge, pulling out. No. Oh, God. Right at the brink, Stiles was leaving. Like everyone else. Leaving. Derek knew he wouldn't be able to take it. Not after this. Not after having him inside. Stiles slid all the way out and Derek was sure he was crying now. Fuck. No. Stiles? Don't. And there he was again. Stiles! Sweet. Solid. Gripping Derek's shoulders. Urging Derek up and into his lap, pulling him into a full embrace. Derek's feet slipped. He felt dizzy and he grabbed onto Stiles for balance._

“Come on. Come here. Lock around me. Can't stop, yet. Just one more try.”  
 _  
Stiles bracing him, guiding his legs, gripping his ass. Going balls deep into him. Home again. All the way home. It felt like fiery spears, running through Derek's veins. Agony, but not pain. More like a religious ecstasy. Fitting given they had to be doing something out of the gay Kama Sutra. Stiles groaning, tight against his chest, abrading his nipples. Sending little zings along his dick. Every thrust rocking them both. Stiles gripping the scruff of his neck. Fingers weaving through his hair. Sliding along his jaw. Caressing his lips. So gentle now. Stiles kissing him deep. Mouth slick and hungry on his, sucking against no resistance._

_His cock trapped between them tried to get hard again. Derek felt sorry for it. Too late, fella. He was going on without it. Stiles had the only cock that mattered. And Derek milked it, squirming and clenching. He wrapped around Stiles. Suckled his fingers. Found his throat, his lips, that long, strong tongue. Little earthquakes shook the bed. Everything outside vanished into their undulating rhythms. Everything opened up inside of Derek. The birth of the universe. Was this what women had? Multiple orgasms. Not a guy thing. Not spewing out, but drawing up and in. So good. Better than anything he'd ever imagined. And it was happening to him. A series of spasms twisted down his spine. Shifting. He was shifting. In super slow motion. Bone and muscle breaking into tiny pieces. Cells bursting, morphing. Only he didn’t become the wolf, he became Derek. Twenty-two. So in love with Stiles. He'd never get over him._

_It had to be a climax, without ejaculating, without his cock involved at all. The tickling buzz turned brutal and rough, ticking every pleasure receptor. The jerking sensation seemed to go on and on. Derek clawed blunt fingertips across Stiles' back. They both pressed hands into the mattress. Someone shouted, maybe him. Maybe a neighbor, calling the police. He tried to push through Stiles, become him. Love shot through his gut, a divine passion. It squeezed his heart. Death. Dead. Ghosted. No light. No air._

_His lungs filled again, just as Stiles spilled into him. Hot pulses. Inside. Where they should be. Stiles writhing and moaning in his arms. Fucking awesome. The scent. The sounds. The aftershocks. His emissary. His other half. That part of him that had always been missing, slotted into place like the last piece of his puzzle. The bell dinged. Fight over. An angel getting wings. Derek laughed, a little hysterically, but he didn't care. He just held on, sweaty and spent._

“Got you there, huh?” Stiles said, gulping air.

“Got me. Yeah. That was... That was... What the hell was that?”

“Anal orgasm,” Stiles said, waving his hand around. Derek could feel the little breezes it made. And the movements of his muscles as he laughed, weak and breathless from his own release. “Pretty great, right? You can't do that yourself. You need a partner.”

“Fuck, Stiles! How did you learn to...?” He smelled blood and thought about the clawing. His need to bite. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. You were a perfect gentleman. The perfect lay. I think I tore into you. Sorry.” He touched what Derek now recognized as stinging abrasions along his shoulders, already healing. “Pulling out right then, when all I wanted was... You're face, Derek, at the end. I can't even...”

“You nearly fucked me to death.”

“Like you asked. And I had to push you hard. So you would know just how good it could be.”

“Good? God. Stiles? Where...?”

“The Internet, Derek. I keep telling you it's your friend.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Can we move, please? My legs are cramping.”

Derek levered up and back. _His knees were like jelly. Damn. Achy everywhere. And he needed to be filled again. Even though he'd never been so satisfied._

Stiles hissed as his cock slid free. “Ow. Ow. Oh, man. Just so you know, my dick is sprained.”

“Wish I could see that. See your face.”

“Me, too. But, hey, soon, right? I want my turn. Soon as we recover a bit.”

“Don't you worry,” Derek said, kissing his cheek. “My calendar is clear all week.”

“A week? Buddy, I won't be hard again for a month. And you have seriously underestimated my accruing interest.”

“I hope so,” Derek said, flopping into the pillows. “Come here. Snuggle.”

“You're a cuddler?” Stiles said. “Be still my heart.”

“Shut up. Wolves cuddle.”

“Scott told me. I already laughed at him. So, you are spared my cutting wit.”

 _Great. Scott was going to get details on this? Fuck._ “You tell each other everything?”

“Are you kidding? Every sordid detail,” Stiles said, as if he couldn't wait to share. “I will be bragging about this to Scott, to my dad, everyone in the locker room. The good news is now I have something to write about for that English paper on my most memorable summer experience. The best essays get published on the school website. You'll be famous.”

“Sarcasm doesn't work as well when I can't see your face, Stiles.”

“Sorry. But that was a stupid question. Scott knows what he needs to know.”

Derek shrugged, but smiled. “Tell him, if you want. You are going to smell like me, anyway.”

“Even if I shower?” Stiles sniffed. “Scent glands. Anal. Werewolf, right. You marked me?”

“You marked yourself,” Derek said. “Mine. Get used to it.”

“Eye drops,” Stiles said. “Then, you can have your snuggle.” He crawled, rather languidly, to the side table and picked up the bottle. His fingers traced lightly over Derek's cheek. “Look up. Blink. Look up. Blink. Now, rest. No more exertion.”

Derek heaved a put upon sigh. He pressed his lips into a grumpy face as Stiles hit the floor and wandered off to get a drink. _A tinkling of glass. Taps. Freezer. Ice. Comfortingly domestic sounds._ When he came back, Stiles managed towels and pillows and blankets, tucking Derek under the covers. With a sickening dip of his stomach, Derek realized he'd had some experience with invalids. For the first time, since falling under the influence, he wonder if Stiles needed a few wins in his life, too.

“Here. Water.” Stiles guided Derek's questing fingers to the glass. Derek grumbled about being smothered, before draining it. “All right, scoot over,” Stiles said, after setting the glass aside. “Do we need so many blankets? I'm seriously overheated.”

“Are you going to be this bossy from now on?”

“Only in bed. And for the rest of your life. Get used to that, Derek.”

As he became cosy with Stiles, perfectly content to overheat him, Derek murmured, “Mmmm! I don't know. I might need a few more hard lessons.”

"Noted. Make a list. Lucky for you, your grumpy ass is now my top priority."

THE END


End file.
